A Modest Proposal
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: Based off a headcanon I have. Italy tries to propose to Germany, and it doesn't go quite as planned. K, fluff like whoa.


Veneziano takes deep breaths and stares at the door.

He'll have to knock soon- if he doesn't, then he won't go to dinner with Germany, and if he doesn't go to dinner he can't ask the question, and if he doesn't ask Germany won't say yes. If he wanted to. Which he might not, but Veneziano really doesn't want to think about what if Germany won't say yes.

He's decided to take the initiative, because even though technically Germany had proposed first he'd told Veneziano to forget about it after he'd stopped acting like his brain had broken, and also because Romano kept yelling at him to just get married already, at least then you'd have an excuse for being so mushy and gross all the time, except Romano had used a lot more curse words when he'd said it. And Romano also got really mad when Germany even was the first to hold hands (which made no sense to Veneziano, it was a good thing when Germany did that, it meant he wasn't being all awkward all the time and that was good) so logically if Veneziano did this Romano couldn't get mad and ruin his good mood. Even if Romano took Veneziano taking the initiative as a sign of potatoey corruption and yelled about Germany anyway.

The door remains un-knocked upon, Veneziano should really do something about that, but every time he reaches out for it he starts thinking about all the what-ifs- what if he won't say yes, what if I mess it up, what if he forgot- and then begins to wonder if this is how Germany feels all the time, no wonder he gets so anxious sometimes. And he can't stop looking at the door to Germany's apartment, and he can't knock on it, and he's beginning to feel profoundly stupid for even thinking of this whole thing when Germany inadvertently solves his problem by opening the door.

Germany's got a suit on, like Veneziano, who remembers that the flowers he's holding should probably go to Germany now, but he also wants to give Germany a hug, which would be hard if there's a bouquet between them and the flowers might get smushed, which would be horrible. So instead Veneziano holds the bouquet in one hand and tries not to bonk Germany with it when they hug, and presses a quick kiss to his mouth.

"Germany," he says as brightly as possible once he pulls away. "Are you ready to go?"

Germany nods, and he's so composed, it's not fair that he can be so calm when Veneziano is panicking inside, but then again Germany hasn't got a reason to panic because he hasn't got a ring inside his jacket pocket and Veneziano does.

Veneziano swallows down his nervousness, almost (it remains, heavy in his stomach and oh he hopes he can still walk like this), and takes Germany's hand, pressing the bouquet into his other hand. He manages a smile and a cheery voice when he says, "Let's go, then."

"All right," says Germany. "Ah- you still haven't told me where we're going."

"To a restaurant, silly!"

"Yes, I know that. Which restaurant?"

They've reached the elevator by now, and Veneziano says, "You remember that place we went to a few months ago where they did such great things with duck?"

"Yes." Germany raises an eyebrow. "It's expensive, though."

The elevator dings, and they step inside. "I know," Veneziano says, "but I'm still paying."

"Are you all right? You never pay."

"Well, I should start then." And the elevator dings again, and they walk past the concierge- Veneziano waves, Germany nods- and out into the late-June mist, where Veneziano makes aimless small talk in a fruitless effort to keep the bottom of his stomach from dropping into the floor every time Germany smiles at him, or every time he thinks of the ring- the ring!- in his pocket.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

How does Germany not notice how nervous Veneziano is, his shaking hands, his shaking voice?

Deep breaths.

Before he knows it, they're walking down the steps into the U-Bahn station and through the turnstiles into the crowd. It's large, a rush-hour group of businesspeople and people going out to dinner or movies or-

Someone bumps into him and makes him stagger. Veneziano pays it little attention, but then Germany isn't next to him anymore, he's tapping him on the shoulder and saying "Feli, you dropped-"

Even if Veneziano hadn't looked, he would've been able to see the dawning realization on Germany's face, but he does look and it makes the shaking in his knees and the twisting in his stomach a hundred, a thousand times worse and somehow he stutters out "H-hang on j-just a moment" and pulls Germany off to the side and to the wall (he's still looking between his hand and Veneziano with disbelief all over his face) without vomiting.

He takes a deep breath.

Another.

Veneziano takes the ring box from Germany's unresisting hands.

Drops to his knees.

Opens the box (somehow without dropping anything).

And squeaks "L-Ludwig Beilschmidt. Will you m-marry me?"

Germany stares. And stares. And keeps staring, and drops the bouquet and turns red and just keeps staring, and Veneziano is shaking more than he ever has in his life, why won't Germany say anything-

And then Germany is definitely not going to say anything, because he's hauled Veneziano back to his feet by the shoulders and now he's kissing him so hard Veneziano forgets to make any sort of surprised noise and just kisses back. They both fumble at the box, and before long Veneziano's managed to slip the ring onto Germany's finger and the ring box drops to the floor and Veneziano just clings to Germany's hand with both of his and breathes him in.

They pull away slowly, and Germany's as red as Veneziano must be and smiling nearly as widely, which doesn't happen often enough at all and especially not in public. Eventually finding his voice, Veneziano says weakly, "Was that a yes?"

Germany's eyes look a little damp, though it might be just a trick of the light. "Of course."

They go in for the next kiss at the same time, and hold it, and for once Germany's not all embarrassed about public displays of affection even though his shoulders do stiffen when someone wolf-whistles. Again, they pull away slowly, and Veneziano rubs his thumb over the iron and gold ring on Germany's left hand.

Germany stoops and picks the bouquet and box back up. He dusts off the flowers and offers the box back to Veneziano, who pockets it again and takes Germany's hand, and as they walk the rest of the way to where the subway will be his legs shake for an entirely different reason.

Dinner is wonderful.


End file.
